The Moon and the Sun
by Masked Man 2
Summary: She is an orphan, skilled and dangerous. He is a revolutionary, ambitious and cold. Separately, they are formidable. Together, they are unstoppable.
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer: I do not own **_**Les Miserables**_

There was no way she could have foreseen it. These kinds of things are not _planned_ for, after all.

Tamar Kardashian cast a wary eye into the pitch-black alleys around her. Paris was a dangerous city by night, especially the slums of Saint-Michel. She wouldn't have chosen this city as a place to visit or reside, but she had to get away. Get away from _him_….

The girl was originally from Vienna, and had lived there the first ten years of her life. Her father had been a luthier; not particularly poor, but certainly not rich, and she could remember many nights of hunger, because her father refused to beg for food or money. Still, he was not above stealing, and would associate with several shady characters from time to time. Eventually, one of those characters, a Prussian assassin and thief, got sick of her father competing with him for business, and killed him, and her mother, a total innocent. Spiro Vonnegut would have killed her, too, but she'd fled, and had been hiding from him ever since.

Five years. Five years she'd been on the run. She'd crossed this continent at least twice, never staying in one place too long, and now she was in Paris.

_Best keep an eye out, _she thought. _There could be anyone in those alleys._ Unobtrusively, her father's voice came back to her. He hadn't loved her, but he'd taught her plenty of useful tricks. For that she was grateful, but she'd never forget the drunken beatings, the starving nights, or looks of disdain. Vonnegut had almost done her a favor by killing him, but….

"Well, well, well. Who do we 'ave 'ere?" a voice drawled in her ear. Tamar froze as a cold hand clamped onto her shoulder. "What's a little boy like you doin' out all alone?" Something icy and sharp touched her neck, as a shadowy figure stalked up to stand in front of her. Tamar could smell his rancid breath.

"Looks like a well-off kid," the newcomer rasped. "Search 'im, boys!" The man holding her dug his blade in ever so slightly as three more men came up. One of them, his breath reeking of alcohol, roughly patted her chest-and grinned.

"Hey, boss," he slurred. "This ain't no boy. Issa _fine_ young lady." Tamar grit her teeth as the man holding her moved his hands to her waist. The other men laughed as the boss forced her chin up, meeting her eyes.

"Girl, eh? Whatcha doin' wearin' them clothes, now?" he chuckled, darkly.

"I don't answer to the likes of _you_," she snarled. The man laughed again.

"Yer a feisty one, ain't ya? You know what we do with people like you, girlie?" He grinned evilly, taking a step forward. "We take our pleasure with 'em, we do. Descant!" The man holding her grabbed the buttons of her waistcoat.

Tamar took a deep breath, and screamed as loud as she could. The boss swore, and Descant stepped back in shock. The smallest man covered his ears. Tamar whipped around, striking Descant in the temple. He dropped like a rock.

The drunk man came at her with a clumsy punch; she grabbed his wrist with her left hand and his neck with her right. Tipping his neck down and pulling his head into her chest, she swung him to the ground, kneeled into his ribs, and dislocated his drunk screamed in pain, and she whirled to face the rest.

"Who's next?" she taunted, the trace of a smirk on her lips. The two unknown men glanced at each other, then at their boss.

"Don't just stand there! Get her, fools!" he roared. The larger of the two immediately shot forward and grabbed her wrists. She flipped her hands over and took a step back, kicking him in the stomach. He doubled over, and she dropped a downward elbow into the space between his shoulders. He dropped. One down, two to go.

Suddenly, the back of her head exploded with pain, and she staggered. Trying not to fall over, she wrenched around to face the small man, who grinned.

"Hello," he said. "How d'ya do?" And he brought up a brick, to hit her again. Struggling to remain conscious, Tamar ducked under it, grabbed his arm, and flipped him over he back. The boss glanced at his fallen men, and ran his tongue over cracked lips.

"You're good," he murmured, "but you won't be for much longer. Suddenly, he lunged and grabbed her in a front choke. She brought her arms up, trying to break the grip, but her strength was failing rapidly. The boss chuckled darkly, and Tamar felt her vision darken. She could barely breathe now; in her delirious state, she thought she saw something creeping toward the boss.

_CRACK!_ The clang of metal against bone rang out through the night, and the grip on her throat slackened. The boss fell to his knees, gripping the back of his head, and passed out at her feet. Tamar glanced up into a pair of sea-blue eyes, which narrowed into a concerned frown. A hand stretched towards her, and somewhere in the distance, someone asked if she was alright, but then she hit the ground, and the world disappeared in a shower of stars.


	2. Chapter 2

**Author's Note: Hello, readers! I just want to say thanks for reading this story, and I want to apologize for the awful summary. This is my first story, so any reviews and constructive criticisms are greatly appreciated! Here's Chapter 2! Enjoy!**

She was..._floating_. There was no other way to describe this strange feeling. She didn't know where the hell she was, but it was soft, quiet, and dark. So dark….

"Well?" A voice cut into the the silence, and Tamar whimpered slightly, cursing whoever it was who had broken the peace. "Will she be all right?"

_Who are they talking about?_ she wondered._ Is it me? What happened?_

"She should be fine, in a week or so. That concussion will take a while to heal, and she's lucky there was no extensive damage." A different voice this time, softer and slightly higher-pitched than the first. She instinctively turned towards the second speaker, seeking comfort in his soft, professional tone.

"Shouldn't she have woken up by now, though?" That was the first man again; he sounded worried. In her half-conscious state, Tamar felt vaguely confused. Why would he be worried? After all, she was fairly certain she didn't know him. Or did she? Perhaps the speaker was the person who had saved her in the alley; it was entirely within the realm of possibility. Her interest peaked, Tamar forced her eyes open. Two shapes blurred in and out of focus in front of her: one tall, and the other rather small. Both staring in shock.

"Who-what…" But a wave of pain hit her so fast she was left breathless. Her head pounded, and her throat felt tight, like she was being choked. Clenching her teeth, Tamar tried futilely to keep the pain at bay.

"Mademoiselle!" the first voice exclaimed. She shook her head, unable to speak. "Joly, what happened? Why can't she speak?"

"Don't worry, mon ami. It's only natural for her to feel the pain of her injuries upon awakening." The first man muttered something in reply, and a moment later, a door slammed shut, making Tamar wince. When the pain abated slightly, she opened her eyes, glancing around in confusion.

"Hello, mademoiselle," Joly whispered. "How are you feeling?" Tamar managed to focus on him; he smiled gently as he took her hand. She smiled back, slightly.

"I...feel alright, I suppose. Where am I? What happened to me?"

" You…" Joly sighed. "I assume you remember getting attacked?" When the girl nodded, Joly continued. "My friend Enjolras found you and knocked one of your assailants out. When you passed out, he brought you here, to his apartment." Tamar frowned a bit and nodded. Of course, she remembered all that. The boss choking her, the man hitting him, and her blackout. It seemed like so long ago.

"How long was I out?"

"All last night, and most of today. It is half past six now."

"_Half past six?!_" Tamar pushed herself to a sitting position, but Joly pushed her back down. "Monsieur, please, I really must go! Surely you understand!" But Joly shook his head.

"Mademoiselle, you are in condition to be moving yet. For God's sake, you just woke up!"

"No, really. I am grateful to both you and your friend, but I cannot impose on...what did you say your friend's name was?"

"Enjolras."

"Yes. I can't impose on him. I am indebted to him enough as it is!"

"Do not think of it in that way, please. You need to rest to recover. Once you are healed, you are free to go where you wish, but until then, you really should stay here."

Tamar thought hard for a moment. Joly was right, she wasn't in any condition to be wandering around the city alone. She of all people knew that. She blew out a sigh.

"All right," she murmured resignedly. "I'll stay, but only til I heal. Alright?" Joly nodded, relieved.

"Excellent. And, mademoiselle, if I may, what is your name, and where are you from? Your accent and dress are rather...odd, though you will forgive me for saying so." Tamar shrugged.

"It's fine. I am from Vienna, and I only dress in men's clothes because they are easier to maneuver in. My name is Tamar Kardashian."

_Tamar._ It was an odd name, Joly thought. Odd, but fitting, for this enigma of a girl. Studying her, Joly realized that she was younger than he'd thought. Her long hair was dark brown, and her eyes were like chocolate. Her eyebrows were rather thick and met in the middle, so she looked like she was constantly frowning. Her nose and jaw were straight, and she was short, lithe, and incredibly muscular for a girl. Her lips, though, were exquisite: dark pink and beautifully shaped. Actually, she was kind of pretty, in her own way. She couldn't be a day over fifteen, though. Which made Joly curious. Why was such a young girl, who didn't seem poor, wandering the streets alone at night? It made no sense.

"It is impolite to stare, Monsieur Joly." Joly jumped. He hadn't realized he had been staring!

"Forgive me mademoiselle. I was just curious as to why you were out all alone last night."

So Tamar told him. She told him about Spiro Vonnegut, and how he was still hunting for her, orphaned as she was. She told him how she had learned how to heal with herbs, and wandered the continent doctoring and playing the flute in the streets for money. As she spoke, Joly felt a strong surge of protectiveness towards the girl. She had been through so much, but she still soldiered on, determined to keep an honest life. She was remarkable, he decided. And he told her so. The girl blushed.

"I am far from remarkable, Joly. I just value my life."

"Be that as it may, I am still proud to know you. Perhaps one day you can share some of your knowledge of herbs with me. I am a medical student," he explained. She nodded.

"I'd be happy to. Speaking of students, I assume your friend Enjolras is one, judging by all the books he has. Where did he go?" Joly shrugged.

"I honestly don't know. He didn;t say where he was going, or when he'd be back. He isn't good with situations like this." Tamar laughed, a bright, sparkling laugh.

"You'd think with a medical student for a friend, he'd get used to emergencies." Joly shrugged.

"I agree, but it isn't my place to judge. Now, do you have any things that we should bring here that you may need?"

"I have a trunk at an inn near the Corinthe," she said, "but I don't think I'll be needing it if I'm only staying a week."

"I'll tell Enjolras to get it, anyway. You may decide to stay longer, after all."

Tamar couldn't understand why she'd do that, but she nodded nonetheless. It wasn't such a bad idea to have her things here, after all. It would save her the trouble of getting them when she left. Joly smiled, but suddenly, a door creaked quietly, making Tamar jump. Bidding her a hasty farewell, Joly picked up his medical bag and left the room. She could hear him speaking quietly with someone outside, and a moment later, the front door shut again. Tamar staggered out of the bed, and managed to stand upright as a man stepped into the room. When he turned to face her, she smiled.

"About time you showed up, Enjolras."

**AN: So that's Chapter 2! Again, reviews are greatly appreciated!- MM2**


	3. Chapter 3

If Enjolras was surprised to see her, he didn't show it. Instead, he set his bag on the floor and strode over to her.

"I take it you're feeling better, mademoiselle," he said. Tamar blinked in surprise; he had a lovely voice- low and musical.

"I am, thank you."

"Good," he murmured distractedly, running a hand through his long golden curls. \

Tamar narrowed her eyes, studying the young man in front of her. With his sea-blue eyes, lovely hair, and slim, lean build, Enjolras was actually quite handsome. He looked exhausted, though, as though he, not Joly, had been up all night with her. Perhaps he had. It certainly seemed like that….

"Is there something wrong?" She jumped when Enjolras spoke She hadn't meant to stare!

"No-I-" she took a deep, slightly painful breath. "Yes, actually. Joly mentioned asking you about my trunk?" Seeing Enjolras's noncommittal expression, Tamar shook her head. "You don't have to get it, but...your friend said he'd ask, and-"

"I know. I was about to get it now." Tamar smiled.

"All right. Did Joly tell you where it is, or would you prefer it if I came with you?"

"Not in your condition. I won't allow it," Enjolras said, frowning. "Joly told me where you said it was, but could you perhaps be more specific?"

"Oh, right. Of course." Tamar dug a piece of paper and a stick of charcoal out of her trouser pocket and drew a small map of the inn, the Corinthe, and where she estimated the apartment to be.

"You know where the Corinthe is, I'm guessing?" Enjolras nodded. " inn is right across the street. Got that?"

"I know where the inn is." Enjolras sounded faintly impatient. "I'll be back in about half and hour. You're welcome to help yourself to something to eat if there's any food, but don't leave the apartment." And he left. Without the map. A second later, Tamar heard the front door slam.

"Charming," she muttered. "And what does he mean, _if there's any food?_" Tamar shrugged and made her way to the small kitchen, ignoring the pounding in her head. After all, it had been a couple of days since she'd last eaten. When she got there, her mouth dropped open.

"Damn. When was the last time someone was _in _here?" The kitchen was practically empty; some small cupboards, a table and two chairs, a counter, sink, and a hell of a lot of dust. Tamar opened one of the cupboards and found some pots, but nothing else.

"Really?!"

Enjolras, for his part, had no idea what was going on in his house at that moment. When he reached the inn, he strode right in to the front desk.

"Excuse me, but is there a girl staying here? I've come to pick up her things." The young woman looked up from her book.

"We got a couple o' girls. What's she look like? What's her name?"

"It's…" Enjolras frowned, realizing that he hadn't asked the girl's name. "I'm not sure. But she has dark hair, she's rather short, dresses in men's clothes?" The desk woman smiled.

"Oh, you mean Tammy? She hasn't been in for a while, but her stuff's still here. You her lover or something? She's a little young for that, you know."

Enjolras felt himself flush at the mere suggestion. He wasn't anything of the sort! He hadn't even known the girl for a day!

"Where is her room?" he asked through clenched teeth, not deigning to answer the woman's question."

"Second floor, two doors down on the left. Why do you need her stuff?" Again, Enjolras didn't bother to answer. Instead, he strode up the stairs, ignoring the woman's shouts of protest.

_Second floor, two down on the left._ When he reached the room, he grasped the handle of the door without hesitation and stepped inside. The musty smell of the room hit him like a wave, making him cough. Evidently, no one had been in here for a while. The trunk was still there, though, shut at the foot of the bed. Enjolras bent to pick it up, surprised at how light it was. What did the girl have in it? He set the trunk down again, running a hand through his hair. The girl was an enigma, without doubt. Perhaps her things could tell him more about her.

_No,_ he told himself. That would be wrong. But…

Before he could change his mind, Enjolras dropped to his knees and opened the trunk. In it were several shirts, pairs of pants, vests, and two jackets, all neatly folded. There were also two bags, and a flute case. Enjolras lifted out the lighter bag first. It smelled strongly of herbs, and there were a lot of sealed paper packets , a small wooden bowl, a pestle, a wooden rod, and some roll of bandages inside. He shut the bag, feeling slightly perturbed. Was she some sort of healer? A witch doctor, perhaps? Who could guess?

The second bag's contents were even stranger. It contained a compass, matches, a map of Europe with dots marking about twenty cities, a set of lock-picking tools, and three knives. With shaking hands, Enjolras dropped the bag into the trunk, a chill of foreboding crawling up his back.

Why would such a young girl need to pick locks? The knives were obviously for defense, but they seemed rather superfluous, considering that he'd seen her take four grown men to the ground with her bare hands.

Enjolras blew out a shaky sigh, passing a hand over his eyes. He wasn't really in the mood to deal with this mystery right now. He hadn't slept in two days, but at least the girl was awake now. Hopefully she wasn't causing trouble.

An hour later, Tamar sat back against the kitchen counter, proudly surveying her handiwork. She had cleaned the kitchen, washed and organized the cupboards, and bought some food at the market in the square near the Jardin du Luxembourg. Admittedly, she felt kind of bad about using Enjolras's money to pay for it, but it was for him, too. She was beginning to get a bit worried, though. He should've been back by now.

Suddenly, the front door creaked, and shut. Tamar leaped to her feet, knocking a pot off the counter. _CRASH! _She winced, bending to pick it up, when the door slammed open.

"What was that?" Enjolras snapped, standing in the doorway with her trunk. Tamar hastily stood, replacing the pot in the cupboard and smiling cockily.

"Enjolras! Took you long enough to get here. You were so late, I cleaned your kitchen and replenished your food supply...what?"

Enjolras was glaring at her. "The state of my home isn't really of your concern, mademoiselle," he told her, rubbing his temples. "You didn't have to do that."

"Yes, I did. It was in a state of horrid disrepair; I highly doubt you've used this place since you moved in. Am I right?" When he didn't reply, Tamar grinned, displaying strong white teeth. "That's what I thought."

They both stood there for a minute, not speaking. Finally, Enjolras sighed and picked up her trunk again.

"I'm putting this in the spare bedroom," he explained in answer to her questioning look. "You're welcome to stay for as long as you'd like."

"I don't want to be a burden," she replied, still unsure even though she had agreed to stay.

"Nonsense. You won't be." He sounded impatient again, as though he really didn't want to deal with her at the moment. Tamar frowned at the dark circles under his eyes.

"You should sleep," she told him. "You're practically dead on you feet."

"I'm fine," Enjolras replied. Tamar rolled her eyes.

"Right," she said sarcastically. "You can't fool me, you know. How long has it been since you've slept? Two days?" Enjolras opened his mouth to speak, but Tamar cut him off. "You'll be of no use to anyone if you get sick."

"If you're worried about leaving me alone," she added, "don't be. I'll just unpack my trunk. I won't cause any trouble. Seeing that Enjolras was looking pensive, Tamar shrugged. "Think it over." She knew better than to push. Instead, she watched his face, searching for any flicker of emotion that might give her an answer. Finally, he sighed.

"Very well." Enjolras sounded a bit relieved. "If you need anything, I'll be in my room." She nodded.

"Of course." And they went their separate ways.

**Author's Note: There's a longer one for you! Hope you like it, and remember to review!**


	4. Chapter 4

**AN: What's up, everyone? Sorry it took so long to update; I've had lots of homework, plus play rehearsals, karate…. Well, enough about me.**

**I'd like to give a **_**HUGE **_**shout-out to Stagepageandscreen, my first reviewer. Your input made me so happy! **

**On a side note, some background info for this story: **

**It takes place in 1830; Enjolras is twenty, and Tamar is fifteen.**

**ALSO! I'm drawing a bit of a blank on the direction I want to go with this story. If anyone has any ideas, or wants to see anything special, let me know in your reviews and I'll do my best to incorporate everything. **

**Here's chapter 4! Enjoy!**

Tamar surveyed the spare room that was to be her home for the foreseeable future. It was small, but furnished with the basic necessities: a bed, a small wardrobe, and a desk with a chair. Satisfied with the looks of the place, she turned her attention to her trunk.

She'd _said_ she would unpack…but what if something happened, and she had to leave quickly? Better to leave her things where they were.

_All right,_ she thought. _That's taken care of…._ She opened the wardrobe. Empty, of course...but wait, there was something at the bottom. Reaching down, Tamar picked up a worn copy of Rousseau's _Discourse on Inequality. _It had to be Enjolras's; she padded softly out of the room and opened the door to the room beside hers and left the book on the desk. Turning around, Tamar had to smile.

Enjolras had fallen asleep in his clothes, and his face was buried in the pillow, with his golden hair spread like a halo around his head.

"A regular angel, he is," she whispered, smirking. "A sleeping Apollo." And she had to shove her fist into her mouth to muffle her laughter.

Glancing around the room, Tamar suddenly felt the childish urge to snoop around, see what kind of person her new flatmate was. After all, if there was one thing her father had taught her, it was that the best way to get to know a person was to examine their things and habits at close range.

The idea was childish, she knew. However, she really didn't feel comfortable living with someone without knowing what they were like. So she stole over to the desk.

Unsurprisingly, the desk was a mess; it was so covered with books, papers, maps, and pens that she couldn't see the wood. Tamar rolled her eyes. Enjolras obviously cared little for the state of his home or his things. She picked up one of the books- _Second Treatise of Civil Government_ by Locke. There were two books by Rousseau, a French-English dictionary, and various essays about human rights, government, equality, and such.

_Something of a revolutionary, then. Are you planning a rebellion, Monsieur?_ Tamar quickly sifted through some of the papers, frowning at what she saw.

About half were college essays, but the other half were angry letters to government officials and speeches. She skimmed one of these, and found the words of freedom and equality stirring her heart. It was easy to imagine Enjolras standing in front of a crowd, rallying the masses with words like these...if they could find it in their forlorn hearts to listen.

She picked up something that looked like a hand-drawn street map, and shivered as she read the notes on it.

'_One in Gov. on our side...write to Lamarque. Plead for prostitute rights in court in referendum. Rally people...barricade?...'Ferre says to wait a couple of years. Too long...but we can get more support with more time. Bahorel found print shop-Lariviere's. Gain support in Aix, Toulon, Lyons. R found wine shop near workers' quarters-Corinthe. Possible meeting place?'_

_Rallies? Barricades?! Are they _mad_?! _Tamar dropped the paper like a hot coal. _Wait several years, my arse. Quixotic, he is._ In the midst anger, she felt only confusion.

Who was Lamarque? Who were 'Ferre, Bahorel, and R? What referendum? _What barricade?_ She sighed, aggressively running a hand over her face. She'd have to ask Enjolras about all this later.

Tamar shoved the paper to the back of the desk, and paused, feeling something...like a latch. Frowning, she pulled it, and opened a small space, also filled with papers.

"A secret drawer?" Clever, very clever indeed. Smiling, she pulled the papers out. A name on the note at the top of the stack caught her eye. She began to read.

_September 15, La Maison Rouge, Bergerac, France_

_Dearest Emelian,_

_It has been so long since you've written, mon petit. I do hope you are well. _

_Sadly, my own health had been failing for several years now, but I would be_

_immensely heartened if you came to visit. I know it has been seven years _

_since you left, but I miss you, I really do!...Though I don't know how your _

_father would react. He was most upset my your...as you called it...escape._

_Actually, he disowned you soon after you left, but please know that I had _

_nothing to do with that decision and would welcome you back at any time,_

_so it is with a heavy heart that I must write these words._

_I am dying. The doctors have given me two months, and I want you to _

_come so that I may say good-bye._

_With love,_

_Your maman, Madame Therese Girard-Enjolras_

Tamar's hands flew to her mouth. She couldn't believe what she had just read. What kind of monster was she, reading something like that?

Enjolras's mother was_ dying, _for God's sake, and yet she still had enough love in her heart to write to her estranged son and beg him to say good-bye. It made her sick, knowing that she had pried into someone's personal life like that. After all he'd done for her, too!

But even through these thoughts, Tamar's mind was working there anything she could do to help? Or would it be better if she pretended that she'd never set eyes on the letter? _The question is, what will hurt Enjolras more? _After all, he wouldn't have hidden the letter unless he wanted to forget about. That being said, he'd probably get angry if he found out she'd read it. But if he forgot and didn't reply or go to his mother, the pain would be even greater when she died.

Tamar sighed, and looked up at the cracked ceiling._ Please,_ she thought not knowing who she was praying to. _Tell me what to do. _

Suddenly, a cry of fear jerked her out of her reverie. Tamar stared at the bed; Enjolras had begun thrashing wildly, and was whispering something she couldn't make out. She ran to him, leaning closer.

"Please...please, father, I promise it won't happen again...don't do it, please don't…" And suddenly he gasped, as though in pain, his hand clutching at his cheek.

Tamar began to gently stroke Enjolras's damp curls, and grabbed his hand.

"Shh...it's alright," she murmured, as though comforting a child. "Your father can't hurt you here; you're safe with me. I promise I'll protect you, _mon ami,_ just as you protected me. " And she didn't hesitate for a moment before calling the young man her friend.

It didn't take Enjolras long to calm down; after a few minutes, he settled into an uneasy sleep. Tamar let go of his hand and placed her cool fingers on his forehead, frowning at the heat she felt. She sighed; she had to think.

Enjolras had been begging his father to not do something, and then...it had seemed like he'd been hit. God knows, she'd been hit in the face just like that often enough by her own father. She knew what it felt like. That, combined with the rememberance of Enjolras being disowned, made Tamar realize that her benfactor had some serious family issues. Maybe he had been abused, just as she had. One more thing to ask, then.

Glancing down, she wondered if the heat she had felt on his skin was a result of the dream, or something more. _I hope he isn't ill...I ought to wake him up...but that's not fair._

Suddenly, a knock sounded from the front door. Tamar jumped, and ran out of the room; there was no way Enjolras would answer it. Whoever was at the door knocked again.

"Is anyone here? Enjolras, Joly...'Ferre, what was the name of the girl?"

"Tamar Kardashian."

"Right...hello?"

Tamar frowned. 'Ferre had been one of the names on that map, the one who had said to wait a few years before they...did whatever they planned to do. Apparently, he also knew her name. She wondered who the other man was. _Only one way to find out…._

She opened the door a crack. "Good evening, gentlemen. Might I have the pleasure of knowing who calls?"

**AN: So that's Chapter 4! Love it? Hate it? Let me know!**


	5. Chapter 5

**AN: I'm back, baby! First of all, I am **_**so sorry**_** about my extended absence. I went completely MIA on everyone, and I have no excuse other than sheer laziness. Oops.**

**On a rather unrelated note, I hope everyone had a great holiday! As a late gift from me, here's Chapter 5!**

Both men jumped back in surprise, but the shorter one with the dark curls and sparkling green eyes recovered quickly. He stepped inside, bowed with a flourish, and kissed Tamar's hand.

"_Enchante, mademoiselle," _he said, grinning. "My name is Gilles de Courfeyrac; you may call me Gilles, Courfeyrac, or Courf, if you are inclined to be familiar." He winked suggestively. "I _do _hope that's the case."

"Stop flirting, Courf, you'll frighten the girl." The other man was rather nondescript; taller than Courfeyrac, with light brown hair, brown eyes, and glasses. His face was kind, though, and he spoke to his friend with fond exasperation.

Tamar smiled. "It's quite all right, _monsieur._ I find your friend...charming."

Courfeyrac laughed brightly, poking his friend in the arm. "You see, 'Ferre? Oh, forgive me, _mademoiselle, _for I have neglected to introduce my companion. This is Alain Combeferre, and you may call him-"

"Alain, Combeferre, or 'Ferre." Tamar smiled. "I know."

Courfeyrac blinked, seemingly stunned at having his own words used against him, and Combeferre chuckled. "So, _mademoiselle _Tamar, I take it you are feeling better?" he asked.

"Yes, thank you. Your friend Joly is quite skilled. And please, no formalities. Call me Tamar."

She paused a moment, sizing up the two men. "You're friends of Enjolras?"

"That we are." Courfeyrac had recovered his flair, it seemed. "Although sometimes-" he leaned in close, fluttering his eyelashes. "He forgets that.

"So…" he began after a pause. "What's it like, staying with our marble man?"

Combeferre rolled his eyes, and Tamar frowned in confusion. "Marble man? Why do you call him that?"

"You'll soon find out," Courfeyrac said, grinning roguishly. "No doubt you'll curse him when you do, if you aren't doing that already."

Tamar stepped forward and discreetly jabbed the tease in the nerve above his elbow, and he gasped with pain. "Your opinion of your friends says many things about you, _monsieur,_ and they are rather unflattering things indeed. Enjolras has been nothing short of civil. Speaking of that...did you wish to speak with him?"

"Yes, actually." Combeferre looked past her, to the rest of the apartment. "Is he here?"

Tamar shrugged. "He's asleep. Do you want me to wake him?"

The bespectacled man shook his head. "_Non, _it is fine." He smiled. "He needs the rest, no doubt; he gets little enough even at the best of times."

"Pity, that." The fact that Combeferre alluded to her arrival as a bad time did not particularly bother Tamar at the moment. She shut the door, and spun to face the men once more.

"I am dreadfully sorry, gentlemen, but I have been a poor host thus far. Would you like to come in? Perhaps I can get you something to eat or drink?"

Combeferre politely declined, and Courfeyrac grinned again. "I have a better idea." He turned to his friend and whispered something to him The other man left, and Courfeyrac turned to her, eyes twinkling.

"Now, _mademoiselle." _He winked at her. "What say you to a little excursion?"

**AN: That's that! Hope you liked it, and be sure to tell me what you think! This story is greatly lacking in reviews! Just click that box! Tell me what you thought, pitch ideas, heck, say random stuff, for all I care. Well, maybe not. Just no pointless criticism. If you don't like something, tell me what it is so I can fix it.**

**The next chapter is coming soon, hopefully. What to expect: We meet the rest of the **_**Amis**_** and Tamar learns something that may change everything…**

**On a completely unrelated note, here are the full names of all of the **_**Amis:**_

**Emelian Enjolras**

**Alain Combeferre**

**Gilles de Courfeyrac**

**Marius Pontmercy**

**Galen Joly**

**Maximilien Bahorel**

**Tycho Feuilly**

**Raoul Grantaire**

**Lesgle de Meaux (Bossuet)**

**Jehan Prouvaire**

**I **_**did **_**change the summary, by the way.**

**Also, SPaS, thank you so much for your continued support! Your reviews are a great help to me...but I'd like to keep Tamar's surname what it is. Kardashian isn't a bad name, it just has a bad reputation. Maybe this way, I can change that! On another note, this is **_**not **_**a romance story. It's not that kind of Enjolras/OC. Tamar is only 15, so I find it a bit unlikely that she would fall in love with a 20-year old man. The two of them will just become good friends who help each other out.**

**Phew! That was long...I hope you all have a great rest of break, and a happy New Year!**


	6. Chapter 6

**AN: Hello, again! As promised, here is Chapter 6! Enjoy!**

"Absolutely not!" Combeferre exclaimed. "For God's sake, Courf, she's _injured_. I absolutely forbid it!"

"Excuse me, _monsieur._" Tamar stepped up to the tall man, looking up to meet his eyes. "I am perfectly capable of deciding for myself what I want to do. I'm _fine, _really." More gently, she added, "It won't be difficult to walk three blocks. You don't have to worry.

"An exceptional speech," Courfeyrac murmured. "To the Cafe Musain!"

The walk to the cafe wasn't as long as Combeferre made it out to be. All the while, Tamar thought, barely noticing the sights around her. She was...nervous, actually. When Courfeyrac had suggested the trip so that she could "meet the rest of _Les Amis,_" she had almost refused. It wasn't that she was worried about what kind of men they were; if they were Enjolras's friends, they were probably good men. That fact made it worse, actually. There was no telling how long she could stay here; Vonnegut could find her at any time. It was best not to get too attached to anyone. It only made the inevitable leaving harder.

"We have arrived!" Courfeyrac burst out, startling Tamar from her thoughts. "Why the long face, _mademoiselle_, you are about to meet some of the best men in France!"

_Wonderful, _she thought. _I'm thrilled._

"I wouldn't say that," Combeferre muttered.

Courfeyrac laughed brightly. "Be that as it may…". He held open the door to the cafe. "_Entrez-vous, mademoiselle._ Your fate awaits." And he smiled, like a cat in a fish market.

The cafe was dimly lit, smoky, and crowded. Cool autumn air and evening light from outside flowed in through the open door, and the smell of food and liquor made Tamar's mouth water. But Courfeyrac and Combeferre led her away from the main room, down a dark hallway, and into a backroom. There were seven men in the shockingly bright space: one at the bar, clutching a bottle of whiskey, and the other six at a table. Four were playing cards, and the other two were watching, although one of them would stop every so often and scribble something in a notebook.

"Gentlemen!" Courfeyrac boomed. The others, aside from the drunk, turned to look, gawking at the odd party.

"About time you showed up, Courf," one of the cardplayers grumbled. He was quite handsome, with short chestnut hair and clear blue eyes. "Bahorel's been bankrupting us all."

_Bahorel. _The print-shop man. The largest of the men, with a fiery red ponytail, shrugged amiably.

"Not my fault if you're goddamned awful at poker, Marius," he said. The observer without the notebook turned to her, and Tamar smiled when she recognized Joly. The medical student grinned.

"_Mademoiselle _Tamar! What a surprise...you shouldn't be out of the apartment!"

Tamar shrugged. "Your friend Courfeyrac is quite persuasive." Joly glared at him, and Courfeyrac, at least, had the decency to blush.

"She's fine, Joly. Besides, with two medical students in the room, she'll be well taken care of if anything..._unusual_ happens. Now, Tamar- lovely name, by the way- allow me to introduce you to everyone here."

Courfeyrac took her right over to the table. "All right...you already know Joly.

"This lovely fellow," he said, clapping the handsome cardplayer on the shoulder, "is Marius Pontmercy. This is Bahorel." The tall redhead took Tamar's hand and kissed it, and she raised her eyebrows. "This is Lesgle de Meaux." The man to Bahorel's right doffed his patched cap, and to Tamar's surprise, he was balding.

"Call me Bossuet," he said. "Everyone does." Tamar nodded, and Courfeyrac continued.

"This fellow here is Jehan Prouvaire." The man with the notebook looked up, his long blond hair falling into his hazel eyes. He smiled sweetly, and he, too, kissed her hand. She smiled back.

"The man at the bar is Grantaire, and usually he would be singing or quoting Shakespeare and the like, but I suppose he is rather subdued tonight."

Tamar studied Grantaire, who looked to be asleep. His tangled black curls obscured his face, but she could see the line of a long nose peeking out.

"Finally, this is Feuilly."

When she looked at Feuilly, Tamar couldn't suppress a gasp. That face…she knew that face. Those green cat-eyes, the fine, wavy, light brown hair, the sharp, delicate features. She'd recognize that face anywhere…

_Five years earlier…_

_Tamar stared in horror at the man who stood over her dead parents. Dripping knife in hand, Spiro Vonnegut stalked towards her with catlike grace, silent and beautiful like the demon he was._

"_Pity, truly," he whispered, his rasping voice grating her ears. "You are so young, so pretty. So much potential in you. Shame to let it go unseen." And he smiled coldly. "No use trying to run, _liebchen._" He was looming over her now. "You're mine."_

_Suddenly_, _Tamar rolled between the murderer's legs and kicked him in the back, knocking him flat. He scrambled up, cursing, and rounded on her, his green cat-eyes flashing dangerously. He grabbed her wrist and pulled her in, setting the knife to her throat._

"_Please, _Herr _Vonnegut, have mercy!" she cried. "Have you no love in you? No pity for a child? No bonds to anyone?"_

_Vonnegut didn't flinch. No, instead he pulled her closer, causing the knife to indent the skin._

"_To love is to be weak," he told her. "You would have done well to remember that."_

"_That would make me a monster," Tamar whispered, defiant despite the blood trickling down her throat. "Like you."_

"_I did love someone once." The German's eyes clouded over, although his grip never slackened. "My half brother. But he is dead to me now, as you will be dead."_

"_What was his name?" Tamar asked, playing for time. Not that it would do any good._

"_Tycho. We had the same mother. He is fifteen now, full grown. He does not need me." His eyes grew cold. "And I __**DO NOT NEED HIM!**__" _

_The knife dug further into her throat, but at the sight of the blood, Vonnegut froze. "No," he whispered. "Just a child...as he was…"_

_The moment's hesitation was all Tamar needed. She kicked the vile man between the legs. Cursing, the assassin stumbled, and she twisted from his grasp, punching him in the sinus cavity._

"_Lights out," she whispered. Ten minutes. She had ten minutes, at the most, until he woke. _

_Tamar ran into her tiny room, grabbed her flute, some money, and some tools, and threw them into a small trunk. _

_Running back, she grabbed Vonnegut by the ankles and dragged him outside, leaving him in the half-toxic mud behind the tannery. She had to run…._

"Tamar? _Mademoiselle, _are you alright?"

Tamar jumped, meeting nine pairs of concerned eyes. Joly took her hand. "Are you alright?" he asked again.

She took a deep breath, shaking her head to clear away the memories. "Fine," she whispered. Then, louder, "I'm fine."

"You look as though you were going to faint," Combeferre told her. "What happened?"

"Nothing," she replied, feeling her heart slow. "I just…remembered something, is all."

Bahorel nudged Feuilly, grinning. "He remind you of an old sweetheart, _cherie_?" He burst out laughing. "'Course he did, with that face!"

Tamar forced herself to smile. "Something of the like"

The men laughed, and Courfeyrac pulled her to sit beside him at the card table, insisting she join their game, teamed up with him. Bossuet quickly lost all his money, and Courfeyrac and Tamar steadily bankrupted all the others, even the wily and tenacious Bahorel.

After an hour, they had won a tidy sum. Courf and Bahorel insisted on buying supper for "the lady," but she refused to accept fully, sharing the goods with the others.

They were friendly, these men; interesting, funny, and mostly well-mannered. Tamar wished that they were perhaps less so, because she could feel a companionship growing with these men that she could not afford.

She noticed, however, the Feuilly avoided her for the duration of the night; he wouldn't talk to her, or even look at her.

Had he recognized her somehow, as she had him? How? They'd never met. Tamar had only recognized _him _because his resemblance to Spiro Vonnegut was uncanny. _Feuilly must be Vonnegut's brother. There's no way in hell that he can be anything else._

The men were ignoring her now. Bahorel must've been drunk, because he was shouting at Marius and trying to hit him, and Combeferre was holding him back with only moderate success. Tamar had to smile at their antics.

_No wonder Enjolras doesn't associate with them often, _she thought. _They're a bunch of damn lovable scoundrels. Their personalities don't match at all._

Scoundrels they may be, but how she _wished_ she could get closer to them. But she couldn't risk it.

"_Mademoiselle _Tamar?" She jumped, glancing up to meet the green eyes of the very man who had been avoiding her all night.

"_Monsieur _Feuilly. Can I help you?" She kept her tone guarded, her face expressionless.

"Could we...talk? Alone"

**AN: Wow. That was the longest chapter**_** by far**_**. The next one will be a bit longer in coming, but don't get impatient! You can expect a confrontation, in which old scores are somewhat settled.**

**For all the Enjolras fans out there, he'll be back soon, don't worry!**

**That's all, folks! Remember to tell me your thoughts!**


	7. Chapter 7

**AN: Hello, and a Happy New Year's Eve to everyone! **

**First of all, I would love to thank my reviewers for all their support.**

**Stagepageandscreen: Thank you for your continued support and constructive criticisms. I eagerly look forward to seeing your input; it means so much to me.**

**Sailing for my Dreams and That Creative One: New people! Yeah! Your reviews made me so happy, I ran screaming up the stairs, shouting for my sister to COME LOOK! I GOT REVIEWS! Thanks for your input.**

**Disclaimer: I do not own **_**Les Miserables, **_**that belongs to Hugo. I also do not own the 2012 movie, although I did borrow some lines from it. So don't sue me.**

**Enough out of me! Here's Chapter 7! Enjoy!**

Feuilly led her outside, but when he turned into a side alley, Tamar stopped cold. All her instincts screamed that this was wrong, that Feuilly could very well be leading her into an ambush. The alley was pitch black, too; all the more reason not to go in.

Feuilly turned to her. "Are you coming, _Mademoiselle?_" he asked.

Tamar bit her lip. "Out here is fine, _Monsieur_. There's no need to go in there."

"For discretion's sake, we must. People come in and out of the cafe all the time. It's best to talk where no one can see us."

"But if we also cannot see each other, there is no point," she said stubbornly. "I don't trust you, _monsieur_. We'll go farther."

Tamar and Feuilly walked to the Jardin du Luxembourg, with Feuilly striding ahead and Tamar going watchfully behind. Neither spoke.

When they arrived, Tamar's eyes widened, and she drew in a shocked breath. The garden was beautiful; the moonlight made the dying flowers and statues shine, and the still fountains glittered with light and ice. The whole place exuded an air of mystery and grace, and she had to blink back tears.

"Beautiful," she whispered.

"Indeed." Feuilly's voice came from a bench about ten feet away. "But we have not come for sightseeing, _mademoiselle._"

"Of course," Tamar replied tersely. She went over to the bench, but remained standing. When Feuilly motioned for her to sit, she shook her head. He sighed.

"I'll be brief," he said. "When Courf introduced me, you paled, like you were afraid. Why?"

"I recognized your face." _And accent, _she added silently. _Everything about you bears an uncanny likeness to __**HIM.**_

"My _face?_" Feuilly laughed nervously. "_Mademoiselle, _I don't recall ever having seen you before in my life!"

"Nor I you."

"Then how-"

"Not you." Tamar met his green eyes, her face deadly serious. "Your brother."

"What are you talking about? I do not have a brother! _Mademoiselle, _this is ridiculous!"

"You're lying, _monsieur. _Don't try to fool me." Tamar lowered her voice to a deep, eerie whisper. "_I can always tell._"

Feuilly's face turned red, and he had to wait a moment before speaking. "_Mademoiselle, _I-you-_why _would I lie? I speak the truth!

"Perhaps," he added coldly, "Your injuries are affecting your judgement more than you thought."

Tamar stared at him in shock. How dare he presume that! "I assure you, _monsieur, _that my judgement is perfectly sound!" she snapped. "_You cannot lie to me._ Now, look me in the eyes and tell me that you do not know Spiro Vonnegut!"

Feuilly started to rise in apparent anger, but Tamar fixed him with such a cold glare that he sank back down. Defeated, he placed his face in his hands.

"How do you know him?" he asked quietly. "It has been so long since I've seen him...How does he fare?"

"I don't know, nor do I care. In fact, I'd like nothing more than to see that bastard dead."

She spoke true, but she was also testing Feuilly, seeing how he would react to such a statement. His previous words did not necessarily prove anything.

This time, Feuilly did leap to his feet, and he grabbed her shoulders, forcing her to meet his eyes."What are you talking about? What has he done?"

"Don't you know?"

"Know what?" He looked more perplexed than irate now.

Tamar sighed. "He _is _your brother, yes?" At Feuilly's nod, she motioned for him to sit again, and turned to gaze at the shining gardens. Such beauty...it should not have to bear witness to such an ugly confession.

"You have a murderer's blood, _monsieur_," she said softly. "Vonnegut killed my parents. He would've killed me, too, if I hadn't escaped. He's still after me."

"What?" Feuilly's voice was barely louder than a whisper. "That...that _cannot _be true, Spiro is mo murderer! He would protect me with his life! He'd do the same for anyone else!

"He's changed, apparently." Tamar didn't bother trying to hide the sarcasm in her voice.

"Are you sure...perhaps you are speaking of the wrong man. There could easliy be more than one Spiro Vonnegut in Europe…"

"Doubtful." Seeing the pain in Feuilly's eyes, Tamar sat down and placed a hand on his shoulder. For your sake, I wish I _was_ mistaken, but it is him. He told me about you as he was about to slit my throat."

_He would kill one while speaking of another that he'd die for. _What a sick thing to do.

If Feuilly had looked pained before, he looked positively shattered now. Tamar thought that he might either start screaming at her again or cry, but instead he looked deep into her eyes.

"Why?" he whispered.

"I'm not sure. My father had had some dealings with him in the past, and I suppose he got sick of the competition. So he killed him to eliminate him as a potential threat. My mother just happened to get in the way."

"_Gott im Himmel,_" Feuilly murmured, and Tamar felt a shiver run down her spine when she heard the German words. "_Mademoiselle, _I...don't know what to say."

"Then make no sound," she replied harshly. She needed neither apologies nor pity, though one or the other was imminent.

Feuilly nodded, but then he grabbed her hand. "_Mademoiselle, _please believe me when I say that the man that I call brother would never have done this, and that I had no knowledge of anything that transpired in the past several years. Something happened, I don't know what, but please, trust that I would never do anything similar. I am quits with my brother now, and after hearing your story, I am ashamed to share blood with him. Can you believe me?"

Tamar listened to this speech -a long one for the quiet worker- with no expression. She _wanted_ to believe him, but the memories of Vonnegut were too fresh in her mind, fresh and dripping with her family's blood.

She wrenched her hand from Feuilly's grasp, and sighed, turning away from him. _He is a good, honorable man,_ she thought. _Not like Vonnegut, as he says. On the other hand, he could be lying...but…_

"I believe you," she told him huskily. "And...I apologize for distrusting you so openly. It was rude of me, and you did not deserve it."

"You have nothing to apologize for. I thank you for giving me this chance. I apologize also, for any harsh words on my end.

Tamar smiled. "It is behind us now, I believe. But I will hold you to your words," she added, half-serious. She stood and cheekily offered Feuilly her arm. "We'd best return to the cafe, _monsieur._ It is late, and the others must be wondering where we are."

Feuilly laughed as he took her arm. "I agree, _mein Freund. _Let us go."

The two, once wary, now friends, walked off into the night, leaving heavier topics of discussion behind to be washed away by the gentle moonlight.

**There's Chapter 7 for you! Here are some translations:**

'_**Gott im Himmel'**_** roughly means 'God in Heaven,' and '**_**mein Freund' **_**means 'my friend.' I don't speak German, so if anyone does and would like to correct any possible errors, feel free to. **

**I know that most accounts make Feuilly Polish, but that wouldn't really work in this situation, so he's German. **

**I hope you liked it, and be sure to tell me what you think!**

**-MM2**__


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